Sea Change
by syntax6
Summary: Hunter and McCall find their partnership on the line as an intimate encounter and a tough new case bring personal and professional challenges.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: There was a line cut from the script of episode "Partners," in which McCall casually mentions that she took Hunter on a Catalina get-away trip as a thank-you for catching the guy who shot her in "Hot Pursuit." This story is just one of many possible ways that trip could have unfolded.

**CHAPTER ONE**

It had been weeks, months even, since the surgery had removed the bullet and had revived her like a princess in a fairytale, but McCall was still savoring the fullness of every new feeling. At present, there was the night sea breeze against her bare legs and the rough, worn deck under her toes. She was pleasantly full from dinner and mellow from the half bottle of wine. Below, Hunter was whistling as he cleaned up the mess in the Mess, which was fair because she had done the cooking. They were only a few miles from shore but it might as well have been another world. The stars were scattered like sea salt across the sky, and the island disappeared behind them into the gloaming.

She closed her eyes and tilted her face into the wind. Even if she stretched her hand all the way down, her fingertips still wouldn't reach the water, but she could hear it, lapping at the boat. She remembered its feel from her earlier swim: cold and bracing – alive, like she was.

The boat shifted as Hunter's heavy footsteps signaled his emergence from below deck. She smiled at his familiar outline in the inky darkness. The breeze dwindled as he lowered himself close to her on the bench with a satisfied sigh. "I have to say," he told her as he stretched an arm behind her, "you've had some pretty great ideas in your time, but this may be the best one yet."

"Well, I'm glad you're having a good time," she said. He'd spent the day fishing while she mostly enjoyed her book and the warmth of the sun's rays. "You've definitely earned some R&R after what you went through while I was gone."

"Thank me again, and I'll feed you to the sharks."

"There aren't any sharks around here." She sat up a little and peered behind her into the black water. "Are there?"

"Relax. They're more afraid of you than you are of them."

This seemed rather doubtful to her, so she shivered and huddled closer.

"Cold?" he asked, but before she could answer, he shed his button-down flannel and draped it around her. It smelled like a mixture of ocean and lemon dish soap, and she burrowed into it like it was warm hug.

"Thanks," she said, and then paused. "For everything."

He squinted out at the water. "Look it. I will say this just one time: saving your butt was one of the more selfish acts I've performed in my life. As for the rest of it, I was just doing my job." He glanced sideways at her. "Got it?"

She nodded. "Got it." She wrapped the shirt closer around her as the wind picked up again, rocking the boat. "So how did you learn to fish, anyway?"

"From my dad and my uncles. They had this big old motorboat they bought at an auction back in '59. They would take it out sometimes, always looking for the big game fish – yellow tail, sea bass, you name it." He grinned. "They spent half of the afternoon fishing and half of it arguing over whose turn it was to pay for the gas. Wonder what ever happened to that old thing."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the boat rocking gently with the lapping of the waves. He glanced up at the sky. "Hey, look at that – a shooting star."

She looked where he was pointing in time to see the last of the white streak wink out into the night. "You have to make a wish," she said.

He considered for a second and then shook his head with a slight smile. "Nah. I think I've used mine up for the year. You go ahead." He nudged her, and she looked down at her lap.

"I think maybe I've used up mine too."

He took her hand, and they gripped each other tightly. Together, they had wished hard enough to make it come true.

They had never really talked about it, the part where she almost died. She was always going to be fine as far as he was concerned. So when he leaned down to press his face into her hair - as close to an acknowledgement of their close call as he was likely to get – she went completely still so she did not miss an instant. _Every little feeling_, she thought, breathing him in. When they touched like this, a silent clock in her head always ticked out the seconds; too long and it would be unseemly.

Except this time there was no one there to see. Maybe her timing was off. Maybe his was. They had been apart for quite awhile as she learned to be herself again. But either she held too long or he leaned too close, and when she turned her head to break apart, his mouth was right there on hers. She jumped at the accidental contact when their lips brushed, heard the sharp intake of his breath. She would have pulled clear away except they were still holding hands.

He did not say anything. Instead, he brought her hand over his knee, down his denim-clad leg, tugging her closer, and when she tilted forward again, there he was. So they kissed. His mouth was gentle, almost tentative, as though he was waiting for her to stop it. She should stop it, she should, but her cheeks flushed hot and her palms tingled and she had that new policy of savoring each delightful sensation. The way their lips both parted slightly, for just a taste. Or the way his skin was still warm from their day under the sun. How he unfurled her fingers and laid them across his thigh, covering her hand entirely with his own.

She was finding it hard to think as his thumb started rubbing lightly over the back of her hand. She opened her mouth to invite more, and he stiffened in answer, then advanced, ready to accept, when suddenly a particularly choppy bit of water hit the boat and jostled them apart.

She gasped and grabbed the railing, while he looked aghast. "God, I'm sorry—"

"No, no. It wasn't you." She reached for him but he chose that moment to leap up from the bench and put about eight feet of space between them. "I didn't..." She took a breath. "When I asked you here, I wasn't planning..."

"Of course not," he cut in. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Let's just, uh, let's just forget it, okay? I'm going to go finish up cleaning. And coffee. I'll make coffee."

"I can do that."

She moved to get up but he stopped her, holding up both palms. "No, you…you stay there."

So she remained at the scene of the crime as Hunter charged off to re-clean the tiny kitchen below deck. She drew her legs up and hugged them, resting her chin on her knees. The night air had cooled but she was still warm, singed around the edges. She welcomed even this. The bullet had almost stopped her heartbeat, but she could feel it now, skittering wildly inside her chest. She closed her eyes and listened.

###

Much later, they were each lying in a narrow bunk on either side of the boat, only the moonlight between them, as they pretended to sleep so there would be no conversation. The low ceiling and gentle rocking of the boat created a forced intimacy, however, and she could feel him over there, tense and not sleeping. She had a monologue going in her head at about 100 miles per hour, so it was startling when his voice cut through the darkness.

"I can't forget it," he said, and she held her breath because she thought he meant their kiss. His covers rustled as he shifted around. "I can't forget the night I found you."

Oh, she thought, exhaling. She searched herself for a suitable reply. "I don't remember it at all," she confessed finally. "Just the hospital, afterward."

"I keep having this dream where I know it's going to happen, so I try to find ways to stop it – like maybe I try to warn you, or I drive faster, or whatever. It never works. I get there at the same time no matter what."

"You got there in time," she said, propping herself up to look over at him. "See?"

"I had no idea you were in trouble," he said as though she hadn't spoken. "If I had been just a minute or two later, hit just one more red light…"

"But you didn't."

"But I could have."

It was then she realized that she was not the only one who lived every day with an alternate reality, one in which she had died. She'd put as much distance as she could between herself and that moment the gunman came through her front door. She had upgraded locks and new rugs and a brand-new haircut that looked nothing like the one belonging to the woman who'd nearly bled to death on her living room floor. The scar was invisible to her, and she was careful not to touch it when she changed or showered.

She hesitated a moment longer and then got out of her bed to stand next to his. "I'm fine now," she said. "I'm here. It's… it's okay." He said nothing, and she gestured at the back of her neck. "It's all sewn up like new and everything." She paused again. "You want to… you want to see?"

She'd made herself look, just once, back when it was still red and angry. Hunter, as far as she knew, had never seen it.

He looked at her then, but she could not read his expression in the low light. Her pulse had picked up with her invitation. But if he looked, maybe he could know: it was over.

He shifted to sit up, apparently agreeing, and she took a tentative seat at the edge of his bed. She had turned around so her back was to him, a gesture of trust she knew he understood well; the last man standing behind her had put a bullet in her back.

She pulled her hair to one side and held it there so he could look. He did not turn on the light as she expected. She felt him move closer, and she shivered at the approach of his fingers to her neck. A hot prickle broke out over her skin as he tugged down the collar of her pajamas. With the tip of one finger, he gently touched two-inch scar.

She clutched the bedclothes with her free hand and forced herself not to move. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

She shook her head just a bit, and the movement shifted his fingertips lower, to sensitive, uninjured skin. "Not anymore."

He kept stroking her, down her neck to the curve of her shoulder. His touch was gentle but she could feel the tension in him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough. He leaned down to put his lips to her neck. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop this."

She let go of her hair so she could reach back to touch the side of his face. "It wasn't your fault. I'd be dead if it weren't for you, remember?"

His answer was pained. "I can't forget." He reached around to hold her as he kissed her scar lightly, almost like a prayer or benediction. She sniffed and rubbed a hand over his bare arms.

"It's okay," she said. "It's okay."

He kissed her neck again in reply, and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she relaxed again, she found he was still kissing her. The kisses were soft and light at first, but gradually grew more lingering as he moved across her skin. She gasped as his mouth opened, hot and wet, against the back of her shoulder.

"Hunter…"

"Shh…"

She gripped his arms but he kept kissing her. Her pajama top was taut between them, pulled down as far as possible in back so he had access to her neck and shoulders. Desire, simmering inside her from before, went up in flames. He leaned her forward slightly and her breasts pressed against his arms. She tugged at him, trying to free herself, but he held her fast. He kissed her and kissed her until she was hot and restless, aching to kiss him back.

He stopped and laid his cheek on her bare skin. They were both breathing hard. "Let me…let me up," she murmured, and she felt him shake his head.

"I do that right now and we both know what happens." His thumb found an opening between the buttons of her pajamas, and she shuddered as he slipped inside her stroke her stomach.

"I don't care," she whispered.

His hold tightened on her as he fought himself and her words. He placed a long, open-mouthed kiss at the base of her neck and then abruptly released her. She trembled a bit as she turned around to see him. His eyes were black in the moonlight. "You don't owe me this," he said.

She smiled a little as she moved closer. "I told you earlier. This was not part of the 'thank you' package."

They kissed again, slow and deep. He nuzzled her as they separated a fraction. "Well, thank you anyway," he murmured, and she giggled. He took her backwards with him down onto the bunk, where he treated her to the hottest make-out session she'd had in recent memory. Her current mantra _feel everything_ served her well, as she savored the smooth, hot skin on his bare back, the slow tease of his tongue in her mouth and the hard weight of his thigh between her legs. He tasted like coffee and smelled like sea salt.

The narrow bunk forced them to lie together almost entirely entwined.

By the time they paused for air, her top was open and his erection bulged the front of his sweatpants. He traced her cheek with one finger and pressed his lips to her hair. "I don't want to presume things here, but, uh…"

She ran her hand down his stomach to where he was hard and hot. "Presume away," she murmured, and kissed his jaw. He sucked in a long breath as she began to caress him.

"I mean what about protection," he said.

"Oh." She stilled her hand. "I thought… you don't have anything?"

He looked down at her pointedly. "This wasn't supposed to be on the agenda, remember?"

She flushed and bit her lip. "Right." Her eyes closed with regret. "We're SOL then, I'm afraid." They were out on the Pacific Ocean; it wasn't like there was a drug store down the street.

He collapsed on top of her with a heavy sigh, and she hugged him close. Her body was still throbbing from head to toe. It arched against him almost of its own free will. She widened her legs just slightly so that he fell into place against her. She let out an involuntary hum of pleasure at the amazing contact, and his hips bucked hard into her.

"You gotta stop that," he said.

She was trailing her hands down his back. "Hmm, yes," she agreed even as she arched upwards once more.

He shifted so he could lean his forehead on hers. "Dee Dee…" he breathed against her mouth.

"Hmm?"

She didn't find out what he was going to say because they started kissing again. _Just a little more_, she thought as his lips found her neck. Maybe they could steal just this much. They could always stop before things got too out-of-hand.

But somehow her top came all the way off and then she was holding his head as he licked and sucked at her breasts. He did not stop until her nipples were hard and shining in the pale moonlight. By this point, the ache between her legs had ratcheted up to almost unbearable need. She cared about little but the feel of his body pressed right up on hers, and in the narrow bunk, there was nowhere else for him to be.

They kissed some more, hot and deep, and his hand slipped under the elastic waistband of her pants. "Yeah?" he asked against her cheek, and she nodded frantically.

"Yeah, yeah."

She held back a cry as he touched her, as though keeping quiet somehow made this not be happening. His long fingers slid over and around, again and again, until her underwear was thoroughly wet. But there was limited room to work with, and soon he was tugging the pants down her hips. _Yes, okay_, she thought, _no pants. No problem_. There were other ways of getting satisfaction.

She returned the favor by yanking his sweatpants down, and he shucked them with a graceless scissoring of his legs. "This is crazy," he muttered before kissing her again.

"Stop in a sec," she replied as she reached for his cock. He arched his neck with a groan when she began to stroke him. He was long and thick and delicately curved; it about killed her that she wouldn't get to feel him inside her.

As though reading her mind, he reached between her legs again. He rolled so he was pressed against the length of her body, his breath hot in her ear as he rubbed her in gentle circles until she started to go mad. She grabbed his head, kissing him deeply, and he eased one of those amazing fingers deep inside.

Her mouth fell open as she found a rhythm with his hand. It was good, so good, the way she'd always known it would be and so she'd tried not to think about it too hard. He kissed her and moved with her and made encouraging noises against her face until she was grabbing for purchase against the bed sheets. "Ah, please," she said, sounding desperate even to herself.

He was grinding against her, hard against her thigh, and then suddenly he shifted or she did and there he was between her legs. They clutched each other as he flexed his hips slowly. Their close quarters had become as intimate as possible without going over the edge. She could barely think of anything beyond the thick ridge of his cock between her legs. It had taken them more than three years to get here; how could they stop now?

"This is dangerous," he said through clenched teeth. "You and me."

"Usually is," she replied with a gasp. He was rubbing her steadily and she started to rock against him in rhythm.

"How…" He gulped. "How dangerous?"

"Hmm." _Oh, God, please._ Just a little push and he could be inside.

"Gimme some odds here," he said. He got her attention when he stopped moving his hips.

"Wha—what?" It took her a second to catch on. "Oh!" She drew a shaky breath. "I don't know. Not so risky, I guess."

"You guess?"

Her cycle hadn't exactly reestablished itself since it went off kilter with the shooting, her weight loss, and all the drugs she'd been on during recovery. "I don't…" He started moving again, and her eyes fell shut at the sensation. "I don't know. Oh my God. Rick!"

He lodged right at her entrance. She could not be held responsible for this decision on her own. Not when ever fiber of her being was commanding her to lift her hips and bring him inside.

She ran her hands down his back, felt the tension coiled inside him. "What if," he said, "what if it's just for a minute? Just… just to see. Then I'll pull out again."

She went teary with relief. Of course he would have the perfect solution. "Yes," she said, "Yes."

She expected a quick thrust, but Hunter pushed into her gently, kissing her as he did so, and the exquisite pleasure of being stretched completely open almost did her in right there. Tears of emotion stung her eyes again. It felt amazing and perfect and she wanted to keep him with her forever. She had forgotten how good it felt to do this with someone she loved and trusted with absolute certainty. He seemed to feel it too, gathering her as close as possible when they started to move together.

The rhythm was slow and deep, and they kept it that way, trying to draw out all the pleasure from each stroke. They kissed and held hands and murmured little noises to each other. When the pace picked up, she arched into the pillow, her eyes practically rolled back in her head from the overwhelming sensation. He was big and hard and hitting all the right places. It usually took her a long time to come this way, if she even managed it at all, but she felt the unmistakable tingle starting inside her. Oh, it was coming. "Wait!" she said with gasp.

He jerked out immediately, breathing hard. "What? What? Are you okay?"

"Yeah…just…too close." Her teeth still ached, that's how close she'd been.

He looked confused. "Close to...oh!" The light bulb went on and he smiled. "I think that's the general idea," he told her, leaning down to nuzzle her temple.

The movement brought his cock in contact with her again, and she shivered with pleasure. "It's not fair," she said. "I mean, if you can't…"

"You and the search for gender equality," he chided, but his tone was affectionate. "There's a time and a place for that, McCall, and this most definitely ain't it." He eased back in, and she swallowed hard. "Pick your battles, huh?"

He started moving and the waves of pleasure came back instantly, big enough that they overwhelmed her. She tried to hold them back again.

"Let go," he murmured to her. "Don't worry about me. I'll behave. I promise."

Of course he would. It was Hunter and she trusted him in all things, so she stopped fighting and let herself feel it all: his mouth on hers, the rising tide within, the steady surge of his cock between her legs. She came with a sharp cry, taut as a bow beneath him, pleasure so intense she thought it might split her in two. She shook for at least a minute afterward, Hunter shushing and soothing her, and when she calmed she found he was true to his word: hard and full inside her.

"Wow," he said as they leaned heads together. His voice was strained but tender.

She gave a watery laugh. "I think that's my line."

"Mmm," he said, and started to pull out.

"Wait, stop." She said the words without thinking. All she knew is that he was wrapped in her arms and deep in her body and she did not want to be separate just yet.

The tendons on his neck stood out. "I've got to," he told her hoarsely.

She shifted her hips. "Don't. It's probably fine." She'd finished her period just a few days before their trip.

"You're killing me," he whispered as he started to move again.

She held him closer. "I just want to feel you."

He groaned against her face and kissed her again. His thrusts started picking up speed, harder and deeper, rocking the whole boat around them. She gripped him tight and held on for dear life. She felt him tensing, getting closer to the edge, but right as his climax began, he yanked out of her with a huge gasp. He held her tight as his cock quivered and pulsed against her stomach.

She smiled with regret and rubbed his head. "Couldn't take the chance," he muttered into her neck.

"I understand." It was the smarter play. He grabbed a nearby hand towel and wiped the mess away gently before settling down to hold her again.

He kissed her hard for a long moment. "You scared the ever-loving shit out of me two months ago," he said when he pulled back. "See that it doesn't happen again, because it's not worth it, not even for this."

She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. "I told you: this wasn't about that."

"Oh no?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well, maybe a little. But not in the way you're implying."

"Right. Not a thank-you."

She considered a moment. "Not to you, no. But maybe to the universe, in a way, because I'm still here."

"Yeah." His voice was soft with affection. "You're here." He lowered his head to hers. "So thanks it is."

###

She awoke to the smell of coffee but found herself alone in his bed. She helped herself to one of his T-shirts and a cup of the coffee before going in search of him up on deck. He was fully dressed but for bare feet, and he smiled when he saw her. "Good morning," he said.

She stood back, feeling a little awkward in the bright light of day. "Hi."

"You missed a great sunrise," he said.

The cloudless sky was still a pale blue but promised a gorgeous summer day ahead. Too bad they would have to be heading back to life on land. "Sorry, I guess I was pretty wiped," she replied.

He held out a hand to her. "Get over here," he said, and she went to him with a sigh of relief. He tugged her down into his lap and looped his arms around her middle. She smiled as she leaned her head on his. "You doing okay?" he asked softly.

"Of course, yes." She touched his face gently. "You?"

"Good." He leaned into her hand briefly and then pulled away. "Really good." The flush of happiness that went through her was almost alarming. "I mean, for something that wasn't planned, I'd say we executed very well," he continued with a grin. "But then we were always pretty good at improvisation."

She laughed and he hugged her. "Maybe we should try it again sometime," she said, the words escaping her before she had a chance to think about them. Hunter went completely still, the moment growing totally awkward, and she realized she had her answer. She flushed with embarrassment and tried to get off his lap. "Forget I said anything. I'm not even really awake yet."

"No, wait." He held her tight so she couldn't leave. She settled back uneasily against him and he rested his chin on her shoulder. A long moment passed before he spoke. "I've been out here thinking about that," he said finally. "And of course the obvious answer is yes, right? I would love to be with you again. And again. And again." He smiled and squeezed her until she smiled back a little. "But I also think that it's probably not such a good idea," he continued gently, "for all the reasons we haven't done it before this."

She closed her eyes. He was right, of course. He didn't want marriage and kids; she didn't want to be with a cop. And there was no one on the planet who was more of a cop than Hunter. "You…you have a point," she admitted.

"Look," he said, "if this whole experience has taught me anything it's that I do not want to imagine my world without you in it. You're…" He squinted out at the ocean and shook his head. "You're too important to me."

Her eyes watered as she hugged him tight. Emotion clogged her throat and made it difficult to speak. They rocked each other slowly for a few minutes, and she sniffled into his shoulder. "I think this may be the nicest breakup speech I've ever received," she said when she could talk again.

He gave her a tender smile. "You haven't been listening very well," he said. "This is the opposite of a break-up speech, because I am not breaking up with you. I'm saying you are absolutely stuck with me – forever."

She smiled sadly. "Forever," she agreed, and maybe this could be enough.

###

Forever got off to a bit of a slow start as they tried to navigate a new world in which they had been naked in a bed together. It was emotionally exhausting at first, as Hunter was overly solicitous; he brought her coffee and talked seemingly non-stop – about the weather, the Dodgers, and basically anything to cover up the fact that other women wanted to see him naked on a regular basis. Then it was simply exhausting, period, as a half-dozen new cases fell into their laps in the space of two short weeks. She needed all that extra coffee he was bringing her just to keep up with their schedule, but at least it left little room for difficult conversation.

Still, there were moments.

"Were you out partying again?" he asked her one afternoon as she smothered a yawn in the car. They were driving back to the precinct from yet another trip to the city morgue. Really, they ought to have their own personal shuttle.

"Not unless you count a late night with Perry Mason as a party," she replied dryly. She eyed him. "You?"

"Me? Me what?"

"You been out partying?" There had been some girl who left a message for him earlier in the week – Marla? Marcie? She'd caught a glimpse of the name before he'd hidden the pink slip in his shirt pocket.

"I hate parties." He looked over at her. "It's the pointy hats," he said, gesturing at his head. "I just can't make it work."

"Hmm," she replied, and pretended not to notice he'd ducked the question. She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. "Oh, I forgot to mention – I know it's not great timing, but I have to skip out on you an hour early today. Doctor appointment."

"No sweat." He paused. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just a follow-up thing. I have to go every few months for a while." Getting shot had thrown her body chemistry entirely out of whack, so the people in white coats wanted to poke at her on a regular basis. She went and forced herself to relive it with each painful needle stick. _Feel everything._

At the appointment, Dr. Paxton seemed pleased with her initial results. "Your weight is back up, your reflexes are all fine and your blood pressure is normal. I'd say one more round like this and we'll consider you a free woman."

"Music to my ears." McCall rolled her sleeve back down, and a thought occurred to her. "Oh, while I am here, I'd like to renew my prescription for birth control pills. I'm assuming that's okay." They had lapsed during her hospital stay, and given her disjointed endocrine system, the doctors hadn't wanted to start her back on them right away.

"I don't see why not," Dr. Paxton said, reaching for her pad of paper. She started writing out the script. "No chance you could be pregnant, right?"

"Right," McCall said. Then she hesitated. "Well, um, almost no chance."

Dr. Paxton peered up at her over the rims of her glasses. "Define 'almost no chance' for me."

"Well, it was just one time and the wrong part of my cycle, so…" She felt herself color as she heard the words come out of her mouth. She sounded like an idiot schoolgirl. _I jumped up and down afterward, so there's no way I'm pregnant!_ But Dr. Paxton was still looking at her, so she couldn't seem to stop talking. "Plus, he didn't finish, you know, inside, and…"

"And why don't we just run the test quickly to be sure?" Dr. Paxton finished for her. "Takes no time at all, and then you'll know. Peace of mind and all that."

"Oh. Okay." McCall's mind had been perfectly at peace until now. "If you think that's best."

Dr. Paxton smiled. "Knowing is always better than not knowing."

So McCall took the blood test, and half an hour later, the results were in. She sat with them in her lap, staring so long the words blurred together. She hadn't really registered much after "The results were positive."

Dr. Paxton was kind. "I take it this is a surprise," she said gently.

McCall blinked. "You could say that." The odds were long, but somehow, she and Hunter had beaten them. She supposed this was par for the course.

"What about the father? You said this was a one-time thing?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of." McCall looked at her lap. "He's...he's not likely to be happy about this." Some thank-you gift she ended up getting him. How the hell was she supposed to break this bit of news?

"You don't have to tell him right away, if you think it could be a problem. Maybe give yourself a few days to get used to the idea. See how you feel first." She paused. "How do you feel?"

McCall swallowed with difficulty. "I don't know. Numb, I guess. Shocked."

"That's understandable." Dr. Paxton nudged a box of tissues her, but McCall's eyes were dry. "If you like, we can talk about your various options…"

"No," McCall said quickly. "I mean, I know them already. It's not hard to figure out, right?"

Dr. Paxton's expression was full of sympathy. "Of course, but sometimes it helps to talk about them with someone else."

"Maybe." McCall sighed. "I guess I just figure there's someone else I should talk to first. If you've got pamphlet which covers that little conversation, I'll take two."

"You're that sure he won't take it well?"

"Pretty damn sure, yes."

Dr. Paxton shifted, apparently searching for a bright side. "You must know him well, then…?"

"Better than anybody," McCall agreed. She rubbed the side of her head, which was starting to hurt. "Are you really sure about these results? There's no room for error? I don't feel pregnant."

"It's early yet. And we can repeat the test if you'd like, but a positive is a positive. False results, when they happen, are negative. Of course, a positive can sometimes be the result of a chemical pregnancy – meaning one that isn't viable – but that is unusual for someone in your circumstances."

"My circumstances," McCall repeated. "Right." Her circumstances were apparently unmarried, pregnant, and about to blow up the most significant relationship in her life.

"Give it a few days to sink in," Dr. Paxton said. "Then you can tell the father. You never know. He might surprise you."

"I doubt that," McCall said. "It's been three and a half years so far and he hasn't surprised me yet."

###

It was after ten at night when she arrived at Hunter's place, but now that she had worked up the courage, she didn't want to turn around. His lights were on and his car was in the driveway, so clearly he was home. In her purse, she carried the evidence: a home pregnancy test she took just to be extra sure, bagged in plastic and ready to confront her suspect.

Just tell him and get it over with, she coached herself.

At least it was Friday. If it went poorly, they probably wouldn't have to see each other for a couple of days. Her heart started pounding as she walked up the steps to the back deck. She might be sick from the anxiety before she was sick from the pregnancy.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to knock. It seemed to take forever before Hunter appeared at the door. Sorry to ruin your life, she thought.

"Hey," he said, plainly surprised to see her. "Uh, what's up?"

"I needed to talk to you about something. Can I come in?"

He glanced behind him. "Right now?"

Oh my God, she realized in horror. He was on a date. _He might surprise you_, Dr. Paxton had said. Jesus.

Way to pick out a winner there, McCall, she told herself. This would make a real heart warming story to tell the baby one day. "Forget it," she said tightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company."

"Dee Dee...wait." He grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. His expression was concerned. "It's pretty late to be dropping by for just a conversation. What's going on?"

"Never mind," she said, trying to full free. "I should have called first. It's…it's not important."

"I am finding it hard to believe that. Are you sure everything's all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, suddenly exhausted. "Go back to your date, and I'll—" She didn't get a chance to say what she would do because her pager started beeping in her purse.

A moment later, his pager went off from his pants pocket. Hunter sighed. "Well, now I think you have to come in."

McCall grudgingly followed him inside to the kitchen, where sure enough, there was a blonde woman standing there holding a glass of white wine. "Hello," said the girl cautiously.

Hunter gestured at her. "Dee Dee McCall, this is…"

"Mallory," McCall supplied as the name came back to her.

Hunter looked surprised. "Right. Mallory Corbett. Mallory, this is my partner, Dee Dee McCall."

"Oh!" Mallory's smile grew warmer at the explanation. "Hi, it's nice to meet you."

"Please excuse us," Hunter said. "We have a work matter to discuss."

"Sure," Mallory replied, and she wandered off to the living room.

Hunter picked up the phone and dialed the number back. "Hey, Captain," he said a moment later, making meaningful eye contact with McCall. Charlie did not get involved in Friday night cases unless there was something unusual going on. "Yeah, it's no trouble. I have McCall here too. What's going on?"

McCall waited while Hunter took some quick notes on the back of an envelope.

"Uh-huh," he said. "Yeah, I know where that is. We're on our way."

"Well?" she asked when he hung up.

"Female DB, strangled inside her apartment. Probably been dead a couple of days."

"Lovely."

"Yeah, well, fasten your seatbelt. She was hog-tied and found next to a set of her own lingerie. This one is going to be ugly."

McCall leaned against the wall while he went to break the bad news to Mallory. Oh, Hunter, she thought as she watched his retreating back, you have no fucking idea.

###

To be continued.

So this one might be a bit bumpy in places. Please keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times. Comments? Questions? Screams of horror? Hit me with 'em. ;-)

Thanks to Amanda, who saves me from myself, and to Robbie, for keeping the fires burning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

They took his car to the scene. Traffic was light, so Hunter was able to glance her way a few times to see if she might feel like talking, but her gaze remained fixed out the passenger-side window. Finally, he couldn't take the silence any longer. "Look, I'm sorry if that was awkward," he said, looking at her again. "Back at the house."

"It's fine."

"I didn't know if I should mention her or not. Mallory. I mean, it's not serious or anything…"

"Of course it isn't," she cut in, folding her arms across herself. "It never is." She still wasn't looking at him.

The vinyl seat creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. This tension and uncertainty were the reasons he'd wanted to keep his date quiet. Mallory was fun and pretty, and a way to keep his mind off Catalina. Simply mentioning her name to McCall might have confused things again, and he was confused enough as it was.

Maybe we should try it again sometime, she'd said on the boat, and they'd done it a hundred times since then in his memory. But when he woke up alone in the gray light, it wasn't the sex that lingered…

_He was back on the ferry, out on the broad deck in the cool salty air, looking for her. Tourists milled around him, happy and chatting, taking photos under the high, bright sun, but McCall was still and silent as she regarded the hazy outline of the city in the distance. She shivered at his approach, but this time, he hadn't bothered sharing his shirt; he simply wrapped his arms around her from behind so that they were sharing the same view._

_It was this part he couldn't shake, the feel of her against him, warm and relaxed in his arms. There was no one else in his life he could hold this way._

_She rested her hands on his and bowed her head. "We're practically there," she said. "The trip's over."_

_"Almost." He laid his cheek to her hair and closed his eyes so he couldn't see the shore. "But not yet."_

Back in the car, McCall sighed and glanced his way. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just…tired. Of course it's fine. Whatever you do, whoever you see on your own time is obviously your business. I have no claim to you."

Had she wanted one? This possibility hadn't really occurred to him, and he didn't know what to do with the news. Fortunately, he was saved from further conversation because they reached the apartment building where the body was found.

"Wow," McCall said as she surveyed the gathering crowd. "It seems we're the last to arrive at this little soiree."

It was near midnight but the street was lit up as if for a block party, lights on in every house or apartment. Patrol units lined the street, and cops in uniform did their best to hold back the interested onlookers. There were two news vans already on the scene. "Charlie said it was it was a bad one," Hunter said as they exited the car.

"Let me guess – young, blonde and pretty."

McCall sounded cynical, but Hunter knew she wasn't wrong. Two or three people were murdered each day in the city, so the press had to be choosy about which deaths to cover. They always picked the most photogenic victims. Hunter ignored the reporters shouting questions as he and McCall threaded their way toward the door.

The apartment building was small, only four floors and 26 units. No doorman, no cameras. Ordinarily, the main door was on a buzzer system, but the cops had propped it open for the moment. They took the elevator up, and the unmistakable smell as the doors parted told Hunter they had the right place. It wasn't too strong; the AC had clearly kept down the worst of the decomp, but once you knew the odor, you never forgot it.

He walked toward the only apartment that had a uniform cop loitering at its entrance, but he'd only gone a few steps down the hall when he sensed McCall was no longer with him. He turned around again and saw she was back near the elevator, looking wide-eyed and pale as a sheet. "What's up?" he asked as he rejoined her. "You okay?"

"Fine," she said through clenched teeth.

They had been to more than a hundred of murder scenes together, and he'd never even seen her blink funny. "You sure? You don't look very good."

"Just go, will you? I'll be there in a second."

He hesitated a moment, glancing back at the uniformed cop who was now watching them with interest. "Uh, well, okay. If you're sure."

"Go," she said again, bracing herself against the wall.

Hunter reluctantly left her there and entered the one-bedroom apartment of Alexa Beamer. It was always a little bit odd, crossing the threshold into someone else's life uninvited. This place had been her home, and now it was his crime scene.

There was no obvious sign of forced entry at the door. The place was tidy and feminine in a way that suggested a woman living alone, with pink throw pillows, huge, framed prints of flowers on the wall and a shelf that displayed small glass animals of varying kinds. Hunter detected no signs of struggle and no immediate evidence that Alexa had been entertaining anyone. A single dish and cup had been dried and placed in the rack near the sink. The only strange thing was the window AC unit, which was chugging away at maximum speed, despite the cooler night air outside. Hunter leaned down to check it out. "Was this how you found it?" he asked Gary Weathers, the nearest crime scene tech.

Gary paused from photographing the living room. "Far as I know, yeah."

"Make sure it gets dusted, will you?"

As he straightened, he saw McCall enter the room. She looked wan but determined as she nodded in the direction of the bedroom. "Is the body back that way?"

"Yeah, I was just headed there myself." They both walked back to the bedroom, where a second crime scene tech was cataloging the scene as two guys from the Coroner's Office stood around looking bored.

On the bed, a woman lay facedown, naked and hog-tied with what looked like nylon stockings. Next to her there was a bra and panties set in leopard print, laid out as though for a phantom female body. Hunter glanced at the dresser and noted the top drawers were open, lingerie spilling out of side of one.

"This is a new one," McCall said as she looked at the underwear on display.

"Maybe he took them off her."

McCall moved to take a closer look. "No, I don't think so – they don't seem to have been worn recently. The killer might have pulled it from her drawers over there. Maybe that's where he got the stockings too." She shifted to regard the body. "No wedding ring, no men's clothes in the closet. Seems like she probably lived alone."

"It was a neighbor lady who called it in," Hunter said. "Maybe she can tell us more."

A murder like this one was typically personal. They were almost certainly looking for an ex-boyfriend, a jilted would-be lover – someone who wanted to send her a message even in death.

"Uh, guys?" Gary poked his head into the room. "You're going to want to see this."

Hunter and McCall followed him out to the living room, where a fresh-faced rookie Hunter vaguely recognized was standing with a small trash bag in his hands. "Found this in the dumpster out back," he said, sounding pleased with himself. "No name or anything but I figured it could be related."

Hunter took the bag and peered in. McCall moved so she could look too, and together, they took in the condoms, lube, and a wide array of dildos and other sex toys.

"Pretty kinky shit, huh?" the officer said. "The vic might've been walking on the wild side."

Hunter frowned at him while McCall disappeared into the bedroom again. "You said you found this in the dumpster?"

"Right on top."

McCall returned and motioned for him to step away. "The drawer in the nightstand is empty," she murmured. "It could be her things."

Hunter nodded and returned to the group. "Bag it and send it to the lab. And nobody says anything about this. Nothing, you got that?" He eyed Officer Eager Beaver with a fixed look.

The kid held up his palms. "Got it."

Hunter sighed. "Let's go talk to that neighbor."

They went next door, where Mrs. Phyllis Stevens clutched a crumpled Kleenex in her hands and tried to tell them what she could about the life and death of Alexa Beamer. "That poor girl," she said, sniffing again. "What sort of monster could do such a thing?"

"That's what we're hoping you can help us with," McCall said gently. "Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Alexa?"

Mrs. Stevens pale blue eyes welled up with tears. "I can't imagine what would possess one human being to do that to another, but especially not to Alexa. I used to laugh with her sometimes about how her name suited her so well – Beamer – because she always had a smile on her pretty face. She used to take down my garbage for me every Monday night, and when she baked blueberry muffins, she always made extra for me because she knows how I love blueberries. Now I ask you – who would hurt a girl like that? It just doesn't make any sense."

Hunter exchanged a glance with McCall before trying again. "Did Alexa have a boyfriend, Mrs. Stevens?"

The woman frowned and looked at her lap. "I don't like to gossip, especially not about the deceased. It isn't proper."

"This isn't gossip," McCall assured her. "We need to know everything we can about Alexa so that we can find the person who killed her."

At the word "kill," Mrs. Stevens shuddered again. "I'll be eighty-two next week," she said softly. "I never knew anyone murdered before. You see these things on TV and you never think it will happen to you…"

Hunter was about to press once more, but Mrs. Stevens drew herself upright. "Alexa…well, as I mentioned, she was a lovely girl. Very pretty, always cheerful and kind. It was natural that people were drawn to her. She worked in a boutique store out at the airport and met a lot of folks that way."

"At LAX?" asked McCall.

"That's right. Such beautiful things they sell there, too. She brought me a silk scarf at Christmastime." Mrs. Stevens bit her withered lip. "But as you might imagine, at a busy place like that, there's a lot of people coming and going, a lot of men just passing by on their way to someplace else. They would stop into the store and talk sweet to Alexa, but the reason they were in there to begin with was because they were looking for a present. For somebody else," she added meaningfully.

"You mean they already had a wife or a girlfriend," McCall said.

Mrs. Stevens nodded. "That's the way it always seemed to work out. She had a local fellow not too long ago – Michael, I think was his name. But I haven't seen him in a couple of months now." She hesitated. "He wasn't happy when she ended things, but she didn't seem to be afraid of him or anything like that. He came over pickled to the gills with liquor one night, shouting in the hall about how she should give him another chance. But he was crying, not threatening her. Alexa felt sorry for him."

"Do you remember Michael's last name?" Hunter asked.

She shook her head vaguely. "I'm not sure I ever knew it. They weren't together very long. He worked as a mechanic around here some place, I think. That's all I knew about him. But I'm sure he didn't kill Alexa. He was crazy in love with that girl."

It was the crazy part that pinged Hunter's radar. "You've been very helpful, Mrs. Stevens, thank you."

As they stood to leave, Mrs. Stevens put a hand on McCall's arm. "You know who you could ask? Officer Pritchett. He's the one who talked to Michael the night he had his little…incident. He might know how to find him."

"Officer Pritchett?" McCall asked.

Mrs. Stevens looked surprised. "You don't know him? He is on the Los Angeles Police Force."

Him and around 6,500 other people, Hunter thought. "No, Ma'am, we haven't met."

"He's our patrolman," Mrs. Stevens said. "We had a prowler in the area last year, so we got to know him a little bit during the investigation. Such a thoughtful, caring young man. This is just going to break his heart."

Hunter walked to the window and peered down at the black-and-whites below. "We'll talk to him, thanks."

They bid her goodbye and stepped back into the hallway, where Hunter halted in his tracks. McCall stopped with him. "What?" she asked.

"You," he replied. "You still look a little…rough around the edges."

Something flickered over her features, an emotion he did not recognize. But then it was gone. "It's one-thirty in the morning," she said, "and we already worked one shift today. Pardon me if I'm tired."

Weary himself, Hunter decided to believe her. "Well, then, let's track down this Pritchett guy and go home."

Officer Allan Pritchett was not hard to find. He was out on the front lines, helping to hold back the crowd. "I'm not even on duty," he told them when Hunter and McCall pulled him aside for a chat. "But I can't help it – I listen to the scanner, and when I heard the address, I had to come. I still can't believe it's Alexa."

He was a slight man, undersized for a cop, but there was an air about him, a feeling that he was wrecked inside but was holding it together out of professionalism because that's what they were supposed to do. "How well did you know her?" Hunter asked him.

"Not that well. One of the ground-floor units was burglarized last October, so I talked to all the tenants about precautions, kept a special eye on the place for a while, that sort of thing. They caught the guy breaking into another apartment four blocks over a few weeks later, so I figured everything was back to normal." He shook his head. "God. What was she, twenty-five?"

"Twenty-eight," Hunter said. "We heard there might have been a problem with one of her boyfriends. You know anything about that?"

Pritchett nodded and took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah," he said, scratching the back of his head. "I gave her my card during the burglary investigation, just in case anyone suspicious came around this way again, and she called one night – maybe eight weeks ago? – said her ex was drunk and making a scene in the hallway. I came over, talked him down and took him home to dry out. He seemed broken up over her, but he wasn't armed and he wasn't threatening to hurt her." His eyes went wide. "You think he might have been the one to do this?"

"Right now we just want to talk to him," McCall said. "Do you remember his name?"

"Uh, Mike." He squinted. "Mike Carver. Lives over in West Hollywood. I can probably find the address if you want it."

"We can find him," Hunter said, shutting his notebook. "Thanks."

Pritchett's attention shifted to something behind him, so Hunter turned to look too. Alexa's body, wrapped in a plastic tarp, was being carted out of the building. "This is my beat," Pritchett murmured as Alexa was loaded into the van. "I'm supposed to keep them safe."

McCall touched his arm. "This isn't your fault."

"We'll get the guy," Hunter added, but Pritchett shook his head.

"Yeah, that's the story we feed everyone else, right? But we both know the truth."

The van doors shut with a hard slam. At that moment, the cops as helpless as anyone else; they watched in unison with the hushed crowd as Alexa Beamer was carried off into the night.

XXX

It was almost three by the time he pulled the car into his driveway. McCall was asleep in the passenger seat, and she didn't even stir when he cut the engine. He wondered, not for the first time, if maybe they had rushed her return. It was only a few short months ago she had been lying paralyzed in the hospital. They had both wanted her back so badly, she'd returned to work just as soon as physically able.

He reached over and stroked her hand with one finger but she didn't awaken. He smiled a bit, recalling last time he'd watched her sleeping, naked and tucked under his arm, so close he could see the fringed shadow of her eyelashes. The memory heated up the close confines of the car, and he swallowed it back into submission.

"Hey." He touched her cheek gently to wake her up.

She shifted upright in a hurry. "What is it?"

"We're back," he said, reluctantly withdrawing his hand.

"Oh," she said, looking around. She rubbed her face with both hands. "Sorry."

"No bother." He hesitated a moment. "It's pretty late. You…you want to just crash here for the night?"

She looked a little horrified, so he rushed to explain.

"I'd take the couch. No problem. I just don't want you driving if you're exhausted."

He'd expected her to look relieved, but instead she seemed deflated. "No, I'm fine. Really." As if to emphasize her point, she opened the door and got out.

He followed her to her car while she felt around in her purse for her keys. "So what do you think?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "About the case."

"I agree with Charlie. There's something about this one…" She shook her head. "It doesn't feel like a jilted ex-boyfriend thing to me."

"I don't know. Sounds like there could be more than one ex-boyfriend, maybe some of them of the married kind. The lingerie…that goodie bag in the trash…someone was sending a message."

"What kind of message?" She put a hand on her hip.

"Well, you know." He made a vague gesture and lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were the only ones around. "About her sex life. Which was apparently pretty colorful, if you can believe the neighbor."

"So she deserved it," McCall said, sounding irritated.

His jaw fell open. "What? No! I didn't say that."

"That will be the headline, you know, once the press gets the story. A woman has sex with more than one man, she can just expect to be murdered for it. Did you see the look on the face of the guy who found the bag of sex toys? He made up his mind about Alexa Beamer right then and there, and we don't even know for sure they're hers yet. And if they are? Well, then the floozy probably had it coming to her, now didn't she."

"Okay," he said slowly. "I didn't say anything like that, nor do I believe it." He looked her up and down. "What gives?"

The fight drained out of her, and she scuffed one foot on the ground. "Forget it. Sorry. It's just...it's just sometimes it seems like the men get all the fun and the women get all the fallout."

"Oh." A sudden flush broke out across the back of his neck. "Um, is this about…about you and me?"

She looked aghast. "What? No."

"Oh, good." He paused. "Because I don't think that. About you."

Now she was annoyed again. "And why should you?"

"I don't!" He held up his hands. God, was there any good way out of this conversation? "I, uh…"

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "You know how many female detectives there are in Central Division?"

He squinted up at the moon as he tried to do some mental math.

"Three," she told him. "Counting me."

This was a lower number than he'd been expecting. He was aware in a general way that the men vastly outnumbered the women, but McCall took up so much space in his life he pretty much felt her presence everywhere. "That's not a lot," he admitted.

"You know how many women were at the crime scene tonight?" He didn't get a chance to answer before she continued. "Two," she said. "Me, and Alexa Beamer."

There was a long silence. Ordinarily, he probably would have hugged her, tried to take some of whatever weight she was carrying, but this time, he held back. "Look," he said finally, "I don't know much about Alexa, obviously, but I do know this: whoever she was, whatever she did with her life, she did not deserve what happened to her."

McCall nodded, seeming mollified, but when he looked again, there were tears in her eyes. "Imagine what a world it would be," she said, "if we all got what we deserved."

XXX

Hunter decided to be extra nice the next morning, so when he picked her up to go interview Michael Carver, he brought along coffee in to-go cups. Anything to smooth over the bumps in their relationship – and the five hours of sleep. She looked as tired as he felt when she got in the car. "Here," he said, handing her the cup. "Figure we're going to need about six of these to make it through the day."

She took it with mild surprise. "Thanks," she said, but she just stared at the lid.

"I already ran Michael Carver through the system. He was arrested on a DUI about seven years ago, but other than that, his record is clean. He's thirty-three, divorced with no kids."

"Not sounding like a really great suspect so far," she said.

He eyed the coffee cup in her hand – the one she had yet to drink. "Not to your liking?" he asked, which was of course ridiculous. He'd been making her coffee for years.

"No, it's fine," she assured him. "I just had a cup, that's all."

This was a woman who would take her coffee by 24-hour IV drip if she could. "Uh-huh," he said, still skeptical. "If you say so."

He pretended not to notice when she ditched the coffee in the trash as they reached Michael Carver's apartment building. Carver himself proved to be a beefy sort of guy, but fit and strong – plenty strong enough to strangle a woman with his bare hands if he wanted to do so. He let them in without argument to his bachelor pad – futon for a sofa, 32-inch TV, and nothing on the walls – but he seemed tense as he perched on the edge of a leather recliner. "You said you wanted to talk about Alexa," he said. "Is she okay?"

"Do you have reason to think she wouldn't be?" McCall asked.

"I haven't talked to her in months," he replied. "But you're here asking me questions, so…"

"When was the last time you talked to her?" Hunter wanted to know.

It was early, and Carver hadn't shaved yet. His stubble was not enough to hide the color that rose in his cheeks. "We broke up a couple of months ago," he said. "I haven't really seen her since."

"We heard you went over there asking to get her back," McCall said. "You'd had a lot to drink."

Hunter pulled out his file folder and pretended to peruse it. "You like drinking a lot, don't you, Mr. Carver?"

"Yeah, okay. I had a few and went over there one night when I shouldn't have. I made an idiot out of myself. Is that a crime now?"

"No, but murder is," Hunter said.

Carver leapt out of his chair. "Murder! You're telling me Alexa was murdered?"

"We're sorry to bring you the news like this," McCall said. "But yes, Alexa Beamer was murdered in her apartment two nights ago, give or take."

"And you think I did it?" He sounded shocked.

"We don't think anything at the moment," Hunter replied. "We're talking to everyone who knew her."

"That's a lot of people." He sank back down, seeming dazed. "What—what happened?"

"Let's not get into the details right now," Hunter said. "Tell us about Alexa."

"We met when she brought her car in for a tune-up. I thought she was flirting with me, so I asked her out." He gave an ironic smile. "Turns out, she was flirting with me but flirted with just about anyone. I made the mistake of takin' it personal."

"So she was the one to break things off?" McCall asked gently.

"Yeah, I wanted her to be my date to my brother's wedding. She said that was too much commitment for her. I said it was just one afternoon, what was the harm? But she didn't want to meet my family at all – said it was making things too serious. I thought we were serious." He glanced from one to the other. "Please, tell me what happened to her."

Hunter looked at McCall, and she looked way. It was all going to be in the papers anyhow. "She was strangled," he told Carver after another beat.

Carver sucked in a sharp breath. "My God." He held his head in his hands for a long moment.

Hunter paused to let the man grieve for a second, but there were more tough questions ahead. "Mr. Carver, I know this might not be the best time for this, but we have to know all we can about Alexa. When you were dating, were you exclusive?"

He looked up, his expression grief-stricken and bitter. "You mean, was she sleeping with other guys? I guess it's possible. I heard a phone message once on her machine from someone named Jack. He was trying to make a date with her. She told me it was nothing."

"Jack," Hunter repeated. "Got it." He took another breath. "Uh, do you happen to know if Alexa owned any…sexual aides?"

Carver looked confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sex toys," McCall clarified, and Carver turned beet red.

"Did he… did he use those on her? Is that why you're asking?"

"So she did have them," Hunter said.

"Some, in her drawer." Carver looked at the ceiling, as if to keep himself from crying. "I can't believe this is happening."

Hunter repressed a sigh, but continued on. "Mr. Carver, we'd like you to take a look at this picture for us." He took out a photo from his folder.

Carver looked alarmed. "Is it…is it her?"

"No, it's a picture of some lingerie. We were hoping you might be able to tell us if it was Alexa's."

Hunter watched closely as Carver took in the picture. If the guy had staged the scene, he would probably be getting a kick out of seeing it again. Carver's dark eyes drank in the details, but gave nothing away. "This isn't her stuff," he said as he handed the picture back to Hunter.

"You're sure about that?" McCall asked.

"Alexa hated animal prints. She said they were cheap and tacky looking." He shook his head. "No way she'd be caught dead wearing that stuff."

XXX

Monday mid-day found them in their usual booth at Rex's for lunch. McCall, however, had brought along more than her customary appetite. He furrowed his brow as the waitress placed a club sandwich with chips, fries, a salad, and a milkshake in front of her. "Would you like to see the menu again?" he asked. "I think there might be one or two items you forgot to order."

"Hey, I'm not running any commentary on your meal."

"That's because your mouth is going to be busy for the next four or five days."

She ignored him and picked up a fry. "I was able to get some names out of Alexa's parents. The last boyfriend they recalled was not Jack or Michael but some guy named Ted. They said her friend Laurie Sullivan might know more. Apparently they worked together at the boutique. I was thinking we might want to get over there today and check it out."

He paused to look at his watch. "We have Barney at two," he said. The autopsy in this case did not seem like it would be very helpful at the moment, but maybe there would be some physical evidence that could prove useful in the future.

"Afterwards, then. If anyone will know the scoop on which guy she was seeing now, it'll be her friend."

He took a bite of his chowder and leaned back in the seat. "I entered the case into the computer to see what might shake loose," he said, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I thought you were into the angry boyfriend theory."

"I still think it's most plausible. It's just…"

"What?"

"The underwear. If they really aren't hers, that means the killer brought them with him."

"I agree that's weird. But I checked. They were a size five, just like the rest of her things. That suggests he knew her well, maybe even intimately."

Hunter paused with his spoon in midair. He'd been as intimate as possible with McCall, and he wouldn't know the first thing about the size of her underwear. He was trying to find a way to frame this point when McCall pushed her plate away. "Excuse me," she muttered, and disappeared to the bathroom in something of a hurry.

That's what you get when you order the special, he thought, and grabbed one of her fries.

She returned a few minutes later but made no move to resume eating. "You're not going to eat that?" he asked, nodding her array of unfinished food.

"No," she said, sounding disappointed. "I guess I'm not."

He did not think too much of it until they got back to the precinct and collected their messages. "Doctor Faraday's office said to call them back before two if you need to move tomorrow's appointment," the secretary told McCall as she handed out the pink slips.

"Thanks," McCall said curtly, and walked away without meeting his eyes.

He stood there with his own pink slips for a minute, not really looking at them, as he cast through his mental Rolodex of McCall's doctors. After the shooting a couple of months ago, she had a bunch. But Faraday was not one of them as far as he knew.

He strolled over to their desks and took his seat, glancing her way a few times to see if she might want to fill in any details. None were forthcoming, so he had to go digging. "Uh, is everything okay?"

She did not look up. "Sure, why?"

He frowned. "Well, this doctor thing," he began, and she froze. This more than anything ticked his concern up a notch. "Everything's still all right with…" He gestured at the back of his own neck to indicate the place where she'd been shot.

She sagged with relief and nodded. "Oh, yeah. That's fine."

He studied her another moment. She wasn't lying to him, not exactly, but there was something else she wasn't saying. He couldn't quite make himself ask her outright. "Okay. Good."

But she didn't seem good. She fidgeted a bit more and then hid her face in her hands. "I need to talk to you," she said from behind her fingers.

He folded his hands and leaned across the desk. "Okay, so talk."

Her hands seemed to tremble slightly as she lowered them, and fear pricked the back of his neck again. "Not here. I—"

She glanced up as the secretary approached once more. "Forgot one of yours," she said to Hunter, handing him another message. "Mallory for you." She smirked. "There's one slip here, but she called twice."

"Thanks." He set the message aside without looking at it and scooted as close as possible to his desk. "You were saying?" he asked McCall.

Pink tinged her cheeks, and she wasn't looking at him again. "Never mind. This…this isn't a good time."

"It's a great time. I've got nothing but time." He made a show of moving the folders on his desk off to the side. "Whatever it is, just tell me, okay?"

She sighed, resigned. "Neither of us has time right now. We're due at the M.E.'s office in twenty minutes, remember?"

He opened his mouth to reply but she was already pushing away from her desk. He caught up with her by the elevator, where he tugged at his tie, which suddenly felt like a noose. Inside, McCall leaned against one wall while he took the other. "You're not sick, are you?" Any kind of sick that involved new doctors was the worst kind of news, and he held his breath for her answer.

She must have felt his fear because she looked directly at him for the first time in what felt like ages. "No, I'm not sick."

He relaxed as the doors slid open. The worst fear was gone, so whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad. He removed his sunglasses from his pocket and followed her out into the bright sunshine.

XXX

As usual, the morgue was cold, hard, and smelled like antiseptic. Barney the M.E. always seemed well suited to life underground, with little mole eyes that peered out from behind his round glasses. "I've got a bunch of unsurprising findings and one major headline," he told them. "Which would you like first?"

Alexa lay on the stainless steel table, modestly covered to her chest with a stained white sheet. "Give us the headline," McCall said.

"She was pregnant," Barney replied flatly. "About 10 or 11 weeks along, I would say."

"Wha-what?" McCall said.

"She was planning on keeping it, too." Barney consulted his notes.

"Now how on Earth could you know that?" Hunter asked.

"Prenatal vitamin in her stomach contents." He took a deep breath. "The rest of the story is either straightforward or a bit of a mess. Cause of death was asphyxiation through some combination of manual strangulation – you can see the finger marks on her neck – and suffocation. I found cotton fibers consistent with the bed sheets in her nose and mouth."

"TOD?" Hunter asked.

"That's the messy part. The ambient temperature in the bedroom was sixty-four degrees when I got there, because the air conditioning units had been set to maximum capacity. Accounting for that, I'd say we're talking last Wednesday sometime, probably between noon and midnight."

McCall cleared her throat. "What about sexual assault?"

"Also a bit difficult to say for sure. There was evidence of vaginal bruising but no tearing and no trace of fluids."

"Hairs, foreign fibers, anything like that?" Hunter asked.

"None that I found." He paused and then voiced what Hunter was already thinking. "Your killer was meticulous. This was not an accident or something that happened in the heat of the moment. He'd been planning it out for a while."

XXX

They drove most of the way to LAX in silence. In fact, McCall's eyes were closed and he thought she might be asleep again. But then she spoke. "You may as well say it," she said without opening her eyes.

"Say what?"

She sat up with a sigh. "What we always say in this situation."

Oh, right. That. "Find the father, find the killer," he supplied. McCall looked out the window, apparently disgusted, and he drew the car to idle at a light. "We say it because it's true," he told her. "The leading cause of death of pregnant women—"

"—is homicide. I know." She hugged herself and looked up at the roof.

When they reached LAX, they found Alexa's friend Laurie Sullivan ringing up the sale of a silver necklace. She had thick honey-brown hair and flawless makeup, but her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "Carla, can you take over for a few minutes?" she asked the other woman in the store. "Thanks."

Hunter and McCall joined her at a small round table in the nearby food court. Nobody ate anything. "We're sorry about Alexa," McCall said, her voice full of sympathy.

"I'm still in shock. I just can't believe it."

"When did you last see her?" Hunter asked.

"Here at the shop on Tuesday. It was just a normal day. She seemed fine and everything." She blinked back tears. "She asked if I wanted to get dinner and I said another time because I just wanted to go home and watch 'Moonlighting' on my couch. We'd had a lot of these dinners lately, always talking about the same thing, and I was just tired, you know?"

"What did you talk about?" McCall wanted to know.

Laurie shot her a devastated look. "Him. The baby. What else?"

"What about him?"

"Should she tell him, what would he say, would he leave his wife."

Wife, Hunter thought. So the father was probably not Michael Carver. "Do you know who he is?" he asked Laurie.

She shook her head. "She wouldn't tell me his name. She said she would spill everything once she told him about the baby, but until then, she just called him 'him.' I know she met him here, at the store. He bought a three hundred dollar Louis Vuitton handbag for his wife. Maybe it was because he was already planning on seducing Alexa, I don't know."

"So she didn't tell you anything else?" McCall asked. "Anything that might help us identify him?"

"She didn't even tell me she was pregnant. I guessed because I have three sisters, and they all have kids, so I recognized the all the signs. She was suddenly super tired. She stopped drinking coffee. One minute she was sick to her stomach, the next she was totally hungry. So finally I just flat-out asked her about it, and she told me."

"Was there anyone else she might have told?" McCall asked.

Hunter vaguely heard Laurie give some reply, but he didn't register the words at all. In his head, he was replaying her last answer. _Super tired. No coffee. Sick and hungry all at once._ Oh my God.

"Can you excuse us for a minute?" he said abruptly.

"Oh, sure."

He grabbed McCall by the arm and practically dragged her away. She wrenched free as they reached the huge windows. "Hunter, what are you doing? We're in the middle of an interview!"

He glanced down at her midsection, but it gave nothing away. His heart was pounding, and he had to swallow several times before speaking. "Pregnant," he managed to get out at last.

The look of panic on her face told him all he needed to know. Holy shit.

"Oh my God," he said. "It's true."

XXX

To be continued...


End file.
